Green Peas and Sam
by RRP
Summary: Sam babysits young Master Parker! What will result? R/R! FIN!
1. On Oatmeal and Such

Disclaimer: I don't own Sam. I don't own James. I don't own Dr. Seuss. And I swear I don't own the peas. 

  


A/N: This is the first it was is hopefully to be at least a few chapters in a humor story concerning Sam and his care of little Master Parker. Thanks to all who helped with the ideas for this!

  


Green Peas and Sam

_by RRP_

  


It was a warm, sunny morning; full of promises for aspiring young swimmers and baseball players, whispers of a joyful afternoon in the neighborhood park, lemonade stands, and ice cream cones. It was barely nine in the morning when children bounded out of their houses and onto their lawns, or darted across the street to playmate's houses to start having fun as soon as possible. 

Sam Adams had already been forced to swerve at least twice to avoid hitting small, squealing streaks of children, as they flew across the street without looking for cars. His beat up but loved Grand Cherokee had fine-tuned breaks that saved him from many counts of manslaughter that morning. 

Nevertheless, he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he hit the highway, out of the residential area, and was safe from any minor mishaps (no pun intended). Instead, he had to deal with adult road rage. And that was something he could handle confidently. He maneuvered onto the right lane, and glanced at the rearview mirror for a final glimpse of the rows of houses and bouncing bodies of kids. He was simply grateful he wasn't responsible for the care of any children.

Samuel Henry Adams had been blessed with good parents, and cursed by the fact that his father was an Revolutionary War fanatic, and that his mother had an abundant sense of humor. More simply known as Sam, he had gotten through school fairly well, and inherited his Grandfather's calm outlook on life, along with his father's love of guns. 

Still a bachelor in his mid-thirties, with no intention of getting married, his job was one he was fairly happy with. Personal Sweeper to the Chairman's daughter at a corporation known as The Centre, he led an interesting life. With no outer ties to the world, other than his parents whom he occasionally visited, he was able to dedicate almost all of his time and energy to the thoroughly demanding job of bodyguard mixed with assassin. 

Quite simply, he was one of the best with a handgun at The Centre. Only few surpassed him in that territory, one of them being his boss. Slim and sexy, with legs that could kill, he worked directly for the one known in the smaller circles as Ice Queen. Her real name was Miss Parker, her first name known by few. And Sam had to admit, working for her did have it's advantages. 

But it also had it's downfalls. Midnight calls to "come now or you die", chasing a man he had never met all over the country, and odd jobs such as babysitting Debbie Broots. She wasn't a bad kid, really. Deadly at checkers, and cute in a little girl type of way. But his mind was far from Debbie Broots at the moment. 

Instead, he was puzzling over a call he had received slightly over half an hour ago, demanding he come to Miss Parker's house immediately. It was her that was doing the demanding, or else he would have worried that something was wrong with her. He followed the road to her house almost without thinking about it, already knowing the trail well enough to navigate it effortlessly. 

It wasn't long before he was pulling into her driveway, making sure not to block her car; it was better to avoid possible mistakes than presume and make them. Sam knew that much from experience. He slid out of the battered Cherokee, and tucked the keys in his pocket. The air was crisp and fresh, a lazy type of summer weather, even here on the other side of town. The refined and sophisticated side of town, with all of the houses many, many yards apart and the landscaping all professionally done. 

She had one hand on a hip, and an eyebrow raised rather high. Piercing blue eyes shot daggers at him, and he returned the gaze– while trying to appear submissive. It was better to let her think she was in control. Easier to stay alive.

"I need you to do something for me." Miss Parker spoke after a minute. Sam nodded respectfully, and answered, 

"Anything you want, Miss Parker." She turned on a stiletto heel, and called into the house, the name that of her much younger half-brother, referred to about the Centre in hushed tones as "Young Master Parker". 

A little boy of about three toddled out, and wrapped his arms around her leg, hiding behind her while shooting an unsure look in Sam's direction. She knelt down to speak to him, and said in a soft tone,

"James, this is Sam. He's going to watch you today." Sam started at hearing this, and was shaking his head no at her back. As soon as she turned to glance at him, however, his head started nodding compliantly. She stood, taking her brother's hand, and looked at Sam. "I brought him home for the weekend, and was called in at the last minute. I'll be back as soon as I can." 

Miss Parker gazed down at her little brother, who was looking back up at her, and she tousled his hair. Sam didn't miss the disappointed look in her eyes, and felt a pang of pity– her afternoon had been ruined, and probably the little boy's as well. 

Her head snapped back up, the icy look taking over again, and she dropped the toddler's hand. She nodded to Sam, and breezed past him, stalking down to her little Boxster in the driveway. Miss Parker sped off without another word, and left the tall, stocky Sweeper eyeing the cautious little toddler, and vice versa. 

The child turned and fled back into the house, and Sam slowly followed. Once inside, he followed the trail of gleeful giggling back to the kitchen. Upon entered the room, he gasped out of pure horror, and just barely refrained from cursing in front of little James. 

Smeared all over the walls of the kitchen was the child's artistic self-expression– with gooey oatmeal. In less than twenty seconds, he had splattered it on the walls and begun to spread it around with his pudgy toddler fingers. Sam swooped down on him, and picked him up, giving the child barely a chance to yell in protest. 

The oatmeal was all over his face and his hands, some of it even making it's way to his elbows. His clothes were suddenly unacceptable, and Sam prayed he could find a change of outfit for the tyke. James was loudly squealing now, maddened at being torn away from his self-invented arts and crafts. 

Sam grabbed a washcloth, and began wiping James off, starting with his face (which was growing redder by the minute) and then wiping down his arms and fingers. Meanwhile, his ears were starting to hurt from the volume of angry screams the little boy was letting out. Head thrown back, hands in tiny fists at his side and elbows locked, he was throwing an all out tantrum.

Running out of options and fearing for his ears, Sam looked around frantically for something to calm James down. Spotting a possible answer, he kept one hand on the boy's knee to prevent him from falling off the counter, and reached across the kitchen with the other arm.

A brief second later, Sam pushed the stirring spoon half-full of sugar into James' mouth, and the little boy stopped screaming almost instantly. He instead looked at the spoon in surprise, and hesitantly swallowed the sugar. A big grin spread across his face, and Sam sighed in relief.

"More?" James asked hopefully, his eyes wide. Sam shook his head in the negative, and James started frowning again.

"You don't need more sugar." Sam replied, looking around mournfully at the sticky, lumpy streaks on the walls and floors of the kitchen. "First, we have to clean this up." 

"I help." James announced joyfully, wriggling on the counter. "I know where sissy keeps her soap." Sam set him down and the little boy dashed off towards the bathroom, stepping in oatmeal and trailing it on the carpet along the way. Sam followed, while muttering,

"Oh boy..." 


	2. Floors, Hooses, and Rappits

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't own rabbits, flowers, garden hoses, or towels. 

A/N: My little brother says a lot of things the same way I have James do. He's inspiration for this. Have fun, R/R!

  


_Green Peas and Sam_

_by RRP_

  


It took nearly half an hour to clean up the oatmeal, keeping an eye on James at the same time. At first, the toddler consented to help, and even wiped up a streak or two. But he soon became bored and was now sitting in the living room at the coffee table, playing with Sam's keys. Sam could see him clearly from where he was scrubbing down the kitchen, and he took full advantage of it. His head swung up to check on James every five seconds. 

When Sam was done, confident that he had gotten all of the oatmeal, he threw the washcloth in the sink, and strode over to the coffee table. James looked up and grinned at him. Sam couldn't help but smile back. "Outtide now?" Sam looked James up and down, and finally nodded consent, inwardly dreading the horrors going outside could bring.

"You'll have to change first." Sam told him, pocketing his keys as James stood up and regained balance. "Do you know where your sister keeps your clothes?" James nodded surely, while toddling away from the couch. 

"Sissy's bedroom." He replied cheerfully. Sam froze. Going around the house, cleaning the kitchen, and watching her brother was one thing– going into her bedroom however, was something entirely different. He debated for but a few seconds, mindful of the fact that he didn't want James to wander off, and made up his mind. He had to go in.

Sam threw James over his shoulder fireman style, making James laugh and wriggle joyfully, and Sam took the stairs by twos. At the top of the stairs, in the hall, there were five doors. All of them were closed. He set James down, and the little boy stumbled in circles. "James, which one is your sister's room?" 

"Dis one." James proclaimed, struggling with the doorknob of the last door. Sam sighed and opened the door. It looked like a normal bedroom, and Sam slapped himself mentally. What exactly had he been expecting? An icy chamber, or perhaps a vampire's coffin. He ducked into the room, retrieved the primary colored duffle bag, and the pulled the door closed behind him as he left the room.

It was only a mere fifteen minutes, impatient ones on James' part, before they were stepping out the back door. James immediately took off after a butterfly, screaming, "Flutterby! Flutterby!" as he chased it. Sam just followed him as he wandered around the yard, stopping to smell a flower or suddenly running after a bug.

Sam looked up at the sky to determine the weather for the rest of the day, and when he looked back down, James shoved a dandelion, roots and dirt and all, into his hand with a comment and a command. "Pretty floor. Hold it. I give it to sissy." Compliantly, Sam held the flower– wincing as a clod of damp dirt fell on his newly polished shoes. 

Sam turned his head back up towards the sky, and made a quick assessment. The sun was shining in the eastern sky, still climbing towards it's noon-time peak. The earlier promise of a beautiful day was fulfilling local child-prayer demand, and not a cloud threatened rain. 

James continued to wander aimlessly about the yard, stopping to retrieve a 'floor' and hand it to Sam, or speeding up to chase a 'flutterby'. Sam had followed him tirelessly, deathly afraid to let him get out of reach or sight– Miss Parker inspired that type of fear in one, and James was a pretty cute kid besides. Even Sam couldn't help thinking so. 

The little boy toddled towards the front of the house, Sam deciding only to herd him back if necessary– he'd like to avoid another tantrum if at all possible. Just as they were nearing the front edge of the house, James turned around suddenly and looked up.

"High and seek?" He asked hopefully, batting his eyelashes and smiling. Sam looked at the weed-flowers in his hand, the collection of which was growing larger by the minute, and he reluctantly agreed. 

"Sure, kiddo."

"You high first, kay?" Sam nodded and rolled his eyes with a muttered, "Yep. I'll hide first." James toddled off towards the back of the house again, and Sam looked for a tree to 'hide' behind. He found one, and stood behind it dutifully. James counted up to ten without any major mishaps, slightly surprising Sam before he reminded himself that the boy was the child of at least one Pretender-gene carrier. 

James ran off in the other direction, looking for Sam behind every twig. He disappeared around the side of the house and started laughing. Nearly a minute passed, and all was suddenly, deathly silent. Sam froze mentally and physically, not able to move or think for a full thirty seconds. And then he snapped into motion, much like earlier before, and rounded the corner of the house at a breakneck speed.

He had expected the worst, and nature served it's best. James sat in the middle of a muddy spot of ground that was quickly forming a mini flood with water from the garden hose, which had been tucked neatly behind a bush a minute ago. Now, James was making mud pies and the mulch that formed most of the side house landscaping was floating away down the driveway. 

Sam turned off the water flow, and snatched James up out of the mud, splattering his suit at the same time– it took a lot of effort, but he once again refrained from cursing in front of the child. James giggled rapturously, and clapped his hands. More mud flew in all directions. 

Sam's long strides carried them towards the house, the Sweeper taking off his shoes as he stepped into the foyer. He already had enough to clean up without scrubbing Miss Parker's floor. James was laughing still, he apparently thought the entire matter much funnier than the kitchen event that morning.

He once again climbed the stairs, in search of a bathroom with a bathtub– the bigger the faucet, the faster the mud would go away. Sam found the bathroom quite easily, and set James on the closed toilet with a brief command to stay still, which was actually more of a beg. He ran back down the stairs and outside for a quick judgement of the damage done– he had a feeling he'd be paying for landscape remodeling for a while. 

Sam paused to bang his head against a wall once or twice to relieve tension on the way back up. Halfway up the stairs, his ears caught the faint strain of a rhythmic thumping noise, and he covered the last few steps in record time, in search of the sound. 

Muddy footprints led from the bathroom, to Miss Parker's room, to another room with a small door. Sam pulled that door open, and found an intrigued looking James sitting on the floor in front of a thumping dryer. "Kid, what's in that thing?" 

"Sissy's rappit. Rappit was wet." James replied innocently. Sam jerked the dryer door open as fast as he could, nearly knocking James in the head with the door. A dizzy and flustered looking rabbit was sitting inside, blinking at him warily. James laughed and reached in to pet the white furry creature. The rabbit was too dizzy and bewildered to shrink away or bite the boy, and Sam decided to attempt to put it back in its cage before it regained sense of motion. 

He picked it up, holding it cautiously and awkwardly, and moved back into the hall. James toddled after him, one hand grasping Sam's pant leg and his muddy shoes still trailing mud all over the floor. The earlier spotted footprints led into one other room– Miss Parker's bedroom.

Sam took a deep breath, and reentered, in search of a rabbit-worthy cage. The cage was found, the rabbit replaced, and James picked up. Sam carefully closed the door after him, and sighed at the mud all over the floor, thankful that Miss Parker's hallway was wood instead of carpet. 

He put James down on the toilet again, with yet another command to stay exactly where he was. Sam turned on the faucet for the bathtub, and made sure the plug was in. Babysitting around his neighborhood as a teenager hadn't been his choice job, but he had done so once or twice, and had one fact pounded into his skull: When the parent or guardian comes home, they expect the kid to be _clean_. 

Sam growled under his breath when he discovered that there were no serviceable full towels in the bathroom– just hand towels. And that meant he had to go to the laundry room, which he had found not too long ago, with James' help. He told James to stay put, one more time, for effect, and then dashed out of the room to retrieve a towel. 

Finding one was a different matter, however. They weren't in the laundry room as he had expected, and his second guess was a closet. Which would require finding a closet. Sam looked up and down the hall, and picked the smallest door. He strode over, and swung it open– finally finding that he still had some semblance of luck remaining. The towels were there.

He grabbed one without taking the time to pay attention to which one he took, and was heading back to the bathroom when he heard the toilet flush. And then flush again. He froze, and heard James say in a low voice, "Uh-oh." 

Sam took a brief second to beat his head against the wall again before going in. 


	3. Peanoot Booter and Paint

Disclaimer: Don't own them. 

A/N: Chapter three is here already! That poor Sweeper...*shakes head with a sigh*

  


_Green Peas and Sam_

_by RRP_

  


James sat in front of the toilet with a concerned look on his face. Sam stood above him, suddenly blocking the light, and the three foot toddler looked up at the towering, six foot something man. He immediately burst into sobs, pointing to the toilet and babbling incoherently. 

Sam knelt down next to the wailing tot, and pulled him into a sitting position. In a firm voice, he asked the dreaded question: "What did you flush down the toilet?" James paused for a second, and studied Sam's face before breaking out in sobs again, tears streaking his dirty face. Amidst the babble and wailing, moaning and flinging, Sam caught three words. 

"Sorry". "Your". And "Keys".

Sam felt his pockets in a panic, vaguely remembering taking them from James earlier, and his heart dropped into his stomach when his pockets turned up empty. James was clinging to Sam's leg, still sobbing and babbling. As frustrated as Sam was, he wanted some answers. He forced himself to remain calm. Which meant not panicking. Which was very, very hard to do.

"Calm down, kid. Calm down." James slowly stopped, sniffling a hundred miles an hour. He looked back up into Sam's face, and found a stony mask in place of anger. In a way, it was comforting to the small boy. "How did you get the keys?"

"You dwopped 'em when you got dat rappit." Sam distantly remembered hearing a metallic clang, and crediting it to the dryer. No such luck. James' lower lip trembled pitifully, and he bit back another wail. "I wanted to see 'em go round. But they runned away down dat hole, and I can't catch 'em!" Sam sighed, and moved the little boy over a couple feet, so he could peer down into the toilet.

Yes, it was a toilet. Yes, it was Miss Parker's house. But those _were_ his keys trapped down there, so he made a decision. He was going to try to fish them out. He rolled up his sleeve, and put his hand down the toilet, grimacing at the very thought of his actions. James watched with interest, eyes growing wide. 

By some miracle, Sam caught the keys. He attempted to grasp them with two fingers, and pull backwards. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. He tried to tug again, with the same results. With a sickening lurch of his stomach, Sam realized what was wrong and he paled. 

His hand was stuck.

Sam cursed, and James gasped. "Bad word!" The little boy chastised, shaking his head vigorously. Sam pulled again on his hand and the keys, wincing when his wrist twisted the wrong way. 

"Look, kiddo. My hand is stuck. Hold tight, okay?" Sam hoped he could keep the little boy's attention– if James wondered off, and he couldn't get his hand out, there was no telling what havoc the little boy could wreak upon the house. 

"Stuck?" James inquired with a hint of surprise. His eyes lit up, and he struggled to his feet. "I go get peanoot booter. Dat's what got dat sticky gum outta my hair." James toddled off triumphantly, proud that he could "help", while Sam yelled after him to stay. 

"James! James, get back here! Peanut butter won't help! Come here!" Sam shouted after the child, pulling harder and harder on his hand the whole time. He gave a final jerk, trying to stand at the same time. It turned out to be a mistake. 

He flew backwards in the direction of his still-stuck arm, and hit his head on the toilet seat. All was blackness.

Sam slowly came to, aware that there was a blurry figure standing over him. His eyes slowly focused, and he gasped. The figure was none other than Miss Parker, and she looked beyond angry. His arm was twisted at an awkward angle, and hurt like the fiery, forgotten sub-level. 

"What are you doing?" Miss Parker demanded of him, as Sam tried to sit up. 

"Umm..." Sam racked his brains for a plausible excuse, and settled on the truth. "James flushed my keys down the drain, and I was trying to get them." She gave him the Eyebrow, and Sam resisted the urge to shiver.

"Did it not occur to you to call a plumber?" 

"Not really." Sam admitted, brow furrowing. He should have thought of that– then he wouldn't be in this situation now. He gave a start, and then asked in a rush, "Where's James?" 

"Asleep on the living room floor, lucky for you. And for me. I don't have to deal with him while I interrogate you. Now, get your hand out of my damn toilet before I shoot it off." 

At this threat, Sam jerked hard on his hand, with no luck. Miss Parker pulled out her gun, and before he could even so much as yell in protest, she squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the pipe, and the toilet blew up in Sam's face. Blackness again.

Mr. Lyle stood over the Sweeper, he was pretty sure Sam was the guy's name, and waited for the glass of water he had thrown on the man's head to work. The Sweeper sat up with a yell, the force of the motion wrenching his hand out of the plumbing at the same time, causing him to yell again. Lyle almost pitied the guy– but not quite. 

Sam held his hand and looked up at Mr. Lyle, who was covered with splotches of paint and looking very mad. He slowly stood, so he at least had the advantage of height. Lyle studied Sam, and Sam studied Lyle.

"What happened to you?" They both asked at the same time. Sam nodded, "Go ahead." 

"I walked in the door, and brother dearest threw paint at me. I don't think my sister will be too happy with the condition of her living room. What about you?" 

"He flushed my keys. Before that, he put the rabbit in the dryer. Before that, he nearly washed out all the landscaping with the garden hose. And before that, he covered the kitchen in oatmeal." Sam growled, wiping his arm off with a nearby towel, and mentally guessing that he had at least sprained it, if not more.

"I came here to tell my sister something, but I guess she's already at the Centre. Good luck cleaning the paint up from her carpet, and getting the peanut butter out of the couch." Lyle nodded, and left Sam standing in the bathroom, staring dumbly after him. The full meaning of his words hit Sam, and he rushed out of the bathroom and thundered down the steps. 

His first thought upon arrival in the living room was that he was beyond murdered– he was a walking dead man. 


	4. Car Horns and Clowns

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Peas R Gud.

A/N: More Sam torture! Enjoy! And don't forget to review...

  


_Green Peas and Sam_

_by RRP_

  


Sam at least attempted to mop up the paint before it dried, and scrub the peanut butter off the couch cushions, but frankly– he was beyond caring enough to get every little bit of mess and his hand still hurt. He just wanted two seconds without James getting into something or breaking something. A quick consultation with the kitchen clock told him that it was a decent hour to feed James lunch, after which, he prayed he could lay him down for a nap. 

It didn't take long to find leftovers in the fridge– things Sam assumed had been from dinner the previous evening and safe for James to consume. He made use of the microwave and heated up some cooked veggies, macaroni and cheese, and then chicken strips. James was made to sit quietly in a kitchen table chair while the food was being readied, twiddling his thumbs.

Sam scrubbed James down with a washcloth as the chicken heated, and was frightened nearly beyond his wits– the child was a mere two, and already he was at an mental age where he could plot and plan. Sam could actually see ideas forming behind those bright little eyes. 

He set the food in front of James and handed the child a fork. James took the utensil and started eating, though a bit messily. While watching James eat, it occurred to Sam that he hadn't had anything in the way of food since early that morning. He decided he could wait, however. The prospect of meeting one of James' disasters with food sitting on his stomach was far from appealing. 

Sam was just beginning to hope that lunch might go by without incident when he was met by a forkful of peas flung in his face. The little pellets of vegetable made contact and splattered, squirting their green content all over Sam and the floor of the kitchen. James laughed gleefully, and raised his fork again. Sam snatched the fork, biting back a yelp as his hand throbbed painfully, and shook his head firmly.

"No. No more." James' eyes widened in surprise, and he meekly nodded as the fork was returned to him. Sam picked peas off his suit with a frown of disdain at the once unscathed material, and dropped them in the trash. 

It wasn't long before James slid off his chair, claiming to be done, and started to dash off away from the table. Sam caught him, and swung him into the air. "Not quite yet, kiddo. It's nap time." 

James blinked, stupefied by the sheer devastation of the revelation– his afternoon plans were nearly ruined if he was to be sleeping. A new plan began forming, and he opened his mouth in the expected wail of protest. Sam seemingly ignored the noise and trooped over to the untainted couch to drop off his wriggling bundle. 

"Here, kid. Where I can keep an eye on you." James sniffled, but compliantly lay down on the couch, stretching out on a large fluffy pillow, and then began his act. His lower lip trembled ever so slightly, his eyes grew moist and watery– and all other noise in the room ceased. 

"Song, pweese?" There was a moment of extended silence as Sam seemed to consider the request, but then the Sweeper shrugged and answered with a sigh.

"I don't remember any, kiddo. Sorry." James sat up and tugged on Sam's pant leg, a tear sliding down his cheek. 

"Pweese?" He repeated, this time with more emphasis on the word. "Jus' one?" Sam shook his head, and sat down on the coffee table across from the couch. 

"I really don't remember any. Why don't you sing something?" Sam gave the first suggestion that sprang to mind, while racking his brain for words or a tune or something– all lullabies were long forgotten, but he was reaching a point where he would do _anything_ just to get James to fall asleep. 

James nodded, and settled back against the pillow, his little mouth opening in the strains of a song– "Cree craw toads foot, geese walk barefoot. Cree craw toads foot, geese walk barefoot." He repeated the mantra over and over, the slightest hint of a tune creeping into the words. Sam wondered what kind of lullaby it was, but dismissed it with a mental wave. 

James looked a bit surprised when the gravelly voice of the Sweeper joined him in the small song, but he ceased singing as the big man continued. He fought against heavy eyelids, but was losing the battle. Less than two minutes later, his eyes closed and he drifted off into sweet oblivion. 

Sam stopped singing and slowly backed away, scared to death that the little boy might detect his movement and wake up. He turned to view the kitchen and the living room, and sighed. Taking a break, or icing his hand (which was continuing to ache painfully), would have to wait. Peas that had missed Sam earlier had made contact with the floor, and were still sitting there. Sam willed them to roll away and disappear, but no such luck. 

Paint still dotted the wall; dried paint that would require paint remover which would require touching up the wall afterwards. He decided to leave the paint. Who knew? Maybe Miss Parker would like some of her little brother's self-expression flung on her living room wall; a permanent fridge hanging of some type. 

Then he remembered the mud that was still upstairs in the hall, and he needed to at least make sure the poor "rappit" was alive. So Sam dutifully picked up the peas, and wiped the kitchen floor for the second or third time that day, then trooped up the stairs to take care of the mud and check on the rabbit.

All was calm, the rabbit was alive, and Sam thought things were finally going his way as he walked back down the stairs twenty minutes later– then he saw the couch. 

It was empty. 

The back door was swinging in the breeze, and Sam rushed through it, eyes scanning the yard for James. He was about to loose hope completely, when he saw a little head bobbing up and down inside his Grand Cherokee, and remembered that he hadn't locked it earlier. 

"James!" Sam yelled to get the child's attention, half-relieved, half-horrified. James looked at him and waved. Then, he hit the middle of the steering wheel as hard as he could. The loud, chaotic sound echoed through the neighborhood and Sam sprinted towards the SUV. 

The car door hadn't been shut all the way, and Sam jerked it open with little effort. James grinned at him, and took his hands off the horn. "You were gone 'en I 'oke up. I was jus' lookin' for you." 

Sam sighed and picked the boy up as he slid out of the car. "How did you get up here?" He mused aloud as he set James down on the grass. James shrugged and began running in circles while emitting a high pitched shrieking sound that reminded Sam of a fire-alarm. 

"Hey, kiddo." Sam started, knowing that he had to get James away from the house before one of them was killed, "You wanna go to the park?" James stopped shrieking and spinning, and looked up with wide eyes.

"Yeah! Park! Park! Park!" He jumped up and down while repeating the demand, and Sam almost smiled. Almost. Sam picked James up and went to the front of the house. Once on the sidewalk, he gave the house a sidelong glance, and decided that he wasn't going to risk going back inside, even for five minutes. 

He set James down, and held his hand as they lazily drifted towards the park. Seagulls flew above them, cackling and calling as they soared past. As they neared their destination, the seagulls were accompanied by the sound of breaking waves and the roar of people talking all at once. 

Once on the tot playground, James attacked the jungle gym with a fury. Sam followed at a close pace, determined not to let anything happen to James. Explaining ruined couch to Miss Parker was one thing– explaining the death and/or serious injury of her brother was another. 

All was well and good for about twenty minutes– then James saw the ice cream vendor. He was in the middle of a miniature, swaying, plank board bridge and jumping probably wasn't his best option, but he jumped.

"Ice 'ream!" James shouted gleefully. Sam almost missed catching him as he fell. James apparently didn't notice the sudden effect of gravity, and continued to wriggle in Sam's arms. "Ice 'ream!" 

"Okay, okay!" Sam relented with a laugh, the closest he had come to humor today, and nodded as he set James down. "We'll get you some ice cream." James slid out of Sam's arms and rushed towards the vendor, Sam following as he pulled out his wallet. 

It didn't take James long to pick chocolate, and Sam waited while the vendor filled the little cone. The man handed it to Sam with a nod towards the park. "Your little boy is awfully rambunctious. You might want to go catch him before he attacks that clown..." Sam started to correct the man, but whirled as the meaning of the words settled in. 

James was already halfway across the park, running full speed towards a clown with a handful of balloons. The clown knelt down to meet the boy, looking and acting far too friendly for Sam's liking. Sam took off at a sprint, quickening even more as the clown picked James up. He was almost there, and opened his mouth to shout, but a sudden pain in his chest made him stop. His running pace slowed to a stumble, and he faltered. With a low groan, he collapsed. 

His last thought was, "Put him down!" 


	5. MyoWhat and Revenge Upon the World

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Honestly, truly, and really, I don't.

  


A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. It's now Finished! Last chapter! Look for the sequel, "Black Cat in a Hat", the tale of a drunken Lyle and designated driver Willie, coming soon! Hope you enjoy this! R/R!

  


_Green Peas and Sam_

_by RRP_

_I never thought my life would end this way– I mean, I tote a gun and get shot at on a weekly basis. But now, I'm lying unconscious in a park with what I can only assume is a heart attack. And all because of a little boy. That certain little boy is probably halfway across the state by now with some pervert dressed up as a clown. If I ever actually wake up, Miss Parker's going to kill me. Kill me dead. Hell, if I wake up, I'm_ _going to kill me. _

_ It's ironic, really. In a morbid type of way. I spent all day wishing the kid would shut up and go away; and now that I can't hear him, not that he's gone, I want him back. Life sucks sometimes, and I don't even know if I have much of it left. If I am really dying, then I now know that your life doesn't really flash before your eyes. Maybe that's a good thing..._

James pushed the friendly clown's nose, squealing when it made a happy 'beep' sound. The clown laughed, and studied the little boy in his arms carefully. James went on to amuse himself with the rainbow colored wig, and the balloons the clown held in his James-less hand. 

"How'd you get way out here, little guy? Did Miss Parker bring you today?" James shook his head, and pulled at a colorful button. 

"Sissy had 'ork to do. Sam is 'atching me today." James swivelled in the clowns arms to see if he could spot the man who had faithfully followed him throughout the day, and his brow furrowed in confusion when he saw Sam on the ground, with a small panicking crowd gathering around him. The clown followed James' gaze, and frowned, a battle going on behind his eyes. 

"Come on, James." He strode over to the small crowd, handed James the balloons as he set him down. He ripped off the wig, and tossed it over his shoulder. Whispers from the crowd grew louder, and one lady questioned loudly, 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm a doctor." The clown assured them, his natural brown hair now visible. He found Sam's pulse, and sighed in relief. The second step he took was to pull back Sam's jacket, and remove the all-too-familiar 9mm from it's holster. Several people gasped as he did so, and the clown started giving commands before anyone could speak.

"Does anyone have a cell phone? Call 911. He's had a heart-attack." 

"What about his little boy?" Someone asked even as the clown heard the beeping of cell phone buttons being pushed. He answered the question as he reached for the phone, 

"It's not his son. The boy is...my nephew, and this man is a friend of his mother's." The phone was handed to him, and he could hear a rustle of doubt breeze it's way through the crowd. He ignored it, and informed the operator of the situation in a calm tone. The phone was returned, and the clown checked Sam over again. 

Sam's eyes flickered, and opened slowly. It was obvious that he was trying to force his eyes to focus, and he slowly managed to do so. The clown loomed above him, minus the colorful wig, and he saw the hair. The hair was all it took. 

"Jarod?" He asked incredulously. Jarod nodded grimly, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Afraid so. Don't move, the ambulance should be here in a moment." The crowd had already started to drift away, and Sam deemed it safe to attempt a capture. He reached for his gun, and growled when he found that it was missing.

"Give it back, Labrat." Jarod shook his head with a frown, as Sam ignored his earlier instructions and sat up with a grunt. 

"Is that all you ever think about? God, Sam, you just had a heart attack!" Jarod put an extra emphasis on the words 'heart attack' as if to prove his point, and Sam shrugged.

"I've had worse, and you're coming with me." In the distance, and nearing them by the second, a siren sounded. Jarod looked off in the direction of the sound, then back to Sam.

"No, you're going with them." Jarod stood to wave to the paramedics, and Sam sighed. He turned with a start when he felt a little body by his shoulder. James stood there, looking at him, concern clear on his face.

"You 'kay, Sam? You 'kay, right?" James put a hand on Sam's shoulder and patted it assuredly. "I get you a ban'aid., 'kay?" Sam chuckled and winced, and then nodded to the little boy. 

"I'll be okay, kiddo." The paramedics reached them with a stretcher, and Sam waved them back as he stood up. Fire laced it's way through his chest, and he nearly fell again, but this time he caught himself and refrained from blacking out. 

"I'll watch James, Sam. And leave your gun with Miss Parker." Jarod assured him, for the sake of James.

"Aren't you afraid she'll shoot you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She has morals, Sam. At home, at least. She won't, not with James there." Jarod picked up James to keep him from following Sam and the paramedics, noting with a frown the heavy sag of Sam's shoulders as he walked away. 

Jarod brightened, for the sake of the little boy, and turned away. James' face twisted into a pout as he realized his previous playmate was leaving, and Jarod tickled him to make him laugh. The small trick worked, and James giggled and squirmed. 

"Let's go back to your sister's house, okay?" 

Miss Parker sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off an oncoming headache, and entered the house. She prayed to God that James was already asleep, and that Sam was ready with a good report. As she pushed open the door, however, she heard the resounding squeals of little James. 

Thunder upstairs caught her by surprise, and there was an equally playful shout that didn't sound quite like Sam. A confused look flittered past Miss Parker's eyes, and she began the trek up the stairs to find out what was going on. As she reached the top of the stairs, everything happened in a rush– James flew past her, followed by her ever elusive prey. 

Jarod was in her house.

Shock hit along with a dozen hurried questions running through her mind. Jarod had apparently noticed her, for he had caught James and they were both looking at her expectantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

"Sissy!" James shouted gleefully, and Jarod put him down so he could run to her. She knelt down to give him a quick hug, but continued looking at Jarod with a questioningly look on her face. 

"What's going on?" She finally managed to demand. James jumped up and down shouting incoherently, so great was his excitement. Jarod watched James for a minute, and then spoke.

"I'm going to go now. Sam's gun is in the kitchen, on top of the fridge. He'll probably want it back soon." 

"Where is he?" Miss Parker snapped, and Jarod fought back a grin.

"James was a bit too much for Sam, I think. You can ask him to explain your couch, and the living room wall, and the landscaping. I don't doubt there's even more he'll be thrilled to reveal. What little I do know is that he finally resorted to taking James to the park, and James got away. I recognized him, and picked him up, and poor Sam panicked."

"Where is he?" Miss Parker ground out, quite near the end of her small amount of patience. 

"I'm sure the hospital will let him out soon," Jarod continued as if he hadn't heard her. "That particular type of myocardial infraction usually doesn't even keep people overnight. He'll probably be by for his car, soon." 

"He had a _heart attack_?" Miss Parker asked incredulously, looking at her younger brother in disbelief. "Good god, James. What did you do to him?" James looked up at her innocently, and she suddenly realized how much he really comprehended. The toddler was too smart for his own good. He blinked, and thought for a moment, then replied in the clearest English she had ever heard him use.

"I was wreaking revenge upon the universe. Sam was the closet target." He lifted his arms to her, and she picked him up with a glance at Jarod.

"Alright, smarty pants. What did you do?" She inquired, and James squirmed uneasily. 

"I..." He paused, and she nodded to him. "I..." James shrugged, and sighed. "I did a bunch of bad stuff. That's all I'm saying." 

"Pajamas, buster. Now." Miss Parker put him down, and pushed him in the direction of her bedroom. James hung his head and trundled off in the direction he had been shoved in. As soon as he had rounded the corner, she started laughing. Jarod's confusion was clear, and it just made her laugh all the harder.

"I fail to see the humor in this," He shrugged, and frowned at her.

"God, Jarod. We spend five years chasing _you_ around and Sam and I both survive only god-knows-what, and then he spends one _day_ chasing my little brother around and has a heart attack because of it. I think James has you beat." 

A grin crept onto Jarod's face, and before long he was laughing with her. James, just around the corner, smirked mischievously. After few minutes, their laughter died down and Jarod sighed.

"I should go."

"I'll let you go this time, Wonderboy. You're lucky Lyle didn't show up." Miss Parker told him, the warning in her voice clear. 

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Lyle. He and Willie are following a false lead on me tonight." Jarod told her with his trademarked smirk. 

"Really? Where to?" Miss Parker couldn't help asking. 

"A Jazz club." Jarod answered, as he brushed past her and went down the stairs. Miss Parker nodded, and went into her bed room, to find James with his pajamas half on, carefully pouring a glass of water over the distressed rabbit. 

"James!" The resounding yell echoed throughout the night and the neighborhood, and a little less than a block away, sitting in a taxi cab, Sam Adams grinned. 


End file.
